Song to Say Goodbye
by taralkariel
Summary: "Who the hell is Bucky?" Steve is reeling to see his once best friend again, and the Winter Soldier loses sight of his mission when he is given a name. An in-depth look at Bucky and Steve during the events of CATWS, with some back story about being kids in Brooklyn together.
1. You are one of God's mistakes

**A/N: This is going to be a sort of frame by frame look at Bucky's and Steve's thoughts during the events of CATWS, with a few flashbacks to before the war. If you've been reading my other story, this is not the sequel (it's coming), but I hope you will enjoy it anyway :)**

**1. You are one of God's mistakes, you crying, tragic waste of skin**

The night is black. The large windows of the house illuminate much of the yard. There is a woman inside, cleaning; five foot five, one hundred thirty pounds, mid-thirties. The soldier waits. When she has finished in the kitchen, he approaches the window. It is not locked. He slips inside and sits down at the table, setting his weapon down quietly on its wooden surface.

He does not have long to wait. The man appears, though not dressed in the suit he usually wears. Still, it is undeniably him. He does not immediately notice the soldier sitting in the corner, and opens the refrigerator, removing a carton of milk. The man does not startle when he sees the soldier, but he could see the unease that flickered quickly in his eyes.

"Mr. Pierce, I'm going home. Do you need anything else?" the woman calls. The man freezes, looking sharply at the soldier.

"No, I'm fine, Renata. Have a good night," the man replies calmly. He waits, listening as the woman walks away. "Milk?" he offers casually, barely pausing for a reaction, which doesn't come, before retrieving a glass from the cupboard.

He tightens his jaw, but waits patiently. The man pours a small amount of the liquid into the glass, then comes over to the table. He sits across from the soldier, ignoring the weapon between them. "The time table has changed. I have two level six targets. I need confirmed kill in ten hours. They already cost me Zola," he began. His gaze flickers away from the man, toward the living room. The man stops talking and looks in that direction.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pierce, I forgot my phone," the woman says, haltingly, standing in the living room a couple of yards away. Fear is plainly evident on her face as she tries not to look into the shadows, not to look at the soldier.

"I'm very sorry you didn't knock, Renata," the man replies, lifting the soldier's gun from its convenient location on the table. He gets to his feet and shoots the woman several times. When it is finished, he sits back down. "Where was I? Oh, yes, two targets. They will take some tracking down, but I am sure you are our best hope at finishing the job."

He jumps out of the SUV and onto the roof of the little silver car, plunging his hand through the glass window on the rear passenger side. His fingers wrap around the lapels and tie of the man inside, and he throws his weight back to pull him out. As soon as he has cleared the broken window, he releases his grip and the man is flung into the opposite traffic. A horn blares as a vehicle collides with him, killing him instantly.

The other passenger, one of the targets, jumps into the front seat, out of his immediate reach when he fires through the roof. The driver pulls the brake, and he is flung forward. He twists in midair and, rolling as he lands, digging his metal fingers into the concrete to slow his progress. He stands slowly. The female target aims at him, but the SUV rams into the back of the car and she drops her weapon. He leaps back onto the roof of the car, using his left arm as a lever. The force of his body on the roof causes most of the glass to shatter. He crouches and thrusts his left arm through the windshield, wrenching the steering wheel off of its moorings and out of the vehicle. He jumps onto the hood of the SUV when shots are fired from the targets, and they continue to force the car into the median barrier. It loses control and rolls, the passengers flinging themselves out of the wreckage via the front passenger door.

The targets, with another man, have landed on a round object of some kind. It seems to have minimized the damage caused by the fall. The SUV pulls to a stop and he dismounts as his men poured out. They fire their rifles as they advanced on the targets, who immediately seek cover. The shield that saved them from the crash is continuing to be an asset. He decides to test how useful it is, and takes a grenade launcher from one of his men. The other targets flee as he aims it at the man with the shield, and he ducks behind it for cover. The force of the weapon colliding with the metal surface flings him off of the overpass.

Two more shots force the female target off the overpass as well, in the opposite direction of the man. He goes to the edge of the road to fire into the bus with which the man has collided. Suddenly, shots are fired below him and a bullet ricochets off of his mask and cracks his right lens. He immediately ducks behind the barrier, leaning against it as he pulls off the damaged glasses. Enraged, he gets to his feet in a swift fluid motion and fires directly downward. The target has moved, and fires at him from some yards ahead. She turns and runs when her clips are empty.

"I have her. Find him," he tells his men in Russian. He steps onto the concrete barrier, then pushes himself off. When he lands on a car below, it contorts and the glass shatters. He strides forward, easily climbing down the wreckage, weapon still in hand. A police car appears, sirens blaring. He fires. People flee, abandoning their vehicles, as he approaches. A sound pricks his ears and he slows, listening intently. The female target's voice is barely audible to his right, taking cover behind a parked car. He silently crouches down, pulling a grenade from his belt as he does so. He rolls it gently and watches as it disappears under the car. He lifts his weapon and prepares to fire as the car explodes. His eyes narrow as he surveys the wreckage, looking for the target. He needs to confirm the kill.

Suddenly, she jumps onto his back, coming from the other direction. She has some kind of cord in her hands, which she is trying to wrap around his throat. He catches it in his right hand and pulls it against her strength as she dodges his attempts to displace her. Finally, he is able to grab ahold and fling her off of him, into a nearby vehicle. She gets to her feet, tossing a silver disk at him as he aims at her. It attaches to his arm and delivers a jolt, which shorts out the cybernetics. His shot strikes the ground as she runs away. He wrenches the disk from the appendage with his flesh hand, clenches his metal fingers, and swings his left arm in an arc over his head. It seems to be working. She is shouting for people to stay clear. He follows the sound until she comes back into sight. He fires, hitting her shoulder, and she goes down, ducking behind a van. Not dead.

As he approaches her hiding place, ready to fire one last grenade to finish the job, he sees the other target running to stop him out of the corner of his eye. He curses mentally at the ineptitude of his men, and turns to meet him. The shield he carries blocks all the shots he fires. He is carrying two handguns in addition to his rifle and spends the clips of all of them without drawing blood. Then he pulls out his knife and tries that. The target is very fast, and is getting some blows through his defense. His arm is malfunctioning. The man repeatedly strikes the metal with his shield, on top of the electric shock earlier, and it is difficult to maintain control. He has never failed to complete a mission on the first try before, and does not intend to start now. His movements become increasingly intense as he fights, his metal arm the only thing that can counteract the man's surprising strength.

His adversary uses his shield to strike his head, and, in the momentary disorientation this causes, gains the ability to throw him over his shoulder, dislodging his mask. He rolls to dampen the impact and quickly got to his feet a few yards away, turning to greet the next attack. None come. The man is staring at him, dumbfounded. He pauses, uncertain at the reaction.

"Bucky?" the target asks, incredulously. Conflicting emotions cross his face, but none suggest an imminent attack.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he says, confused and annoyed. The other man does not respond, which sparks an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. He glares, and draws his remaining pistol. The man does not move, just stares. He turns his body to present a minimal target anyway, and aims his weapon.

Out of nowhere, something heavy strikes his arm and upsets his shot, knocking him forward. The other man from the car, wearing some sort of wings. He recovers quickly, rolling and getting to his feet. He looks at the other man and pauses, something pressing on the back of his mind. Frowning, he glances away and saw men approaching. He quickly aims his weapon. The man put up his shield at the last moment, ducking as an RPG flies over his shoulder, right toward the soldier. His men are nowhere to be found. Others are approaching rapidly. He ducks and disappears into the wreckage around him.


	2. I'm well aware of how it aches

**A/N: Thanks so much to those who have reviewed so far! Now for Steve's point of view.**

**2. I'm well aware of how it aches, and you still won't let me in**

The other man was fast, and his metal arm was very strong. The fight was unlike any Steve had experienced in a long, long time. It took all of his strength and agility to keep the soldier distracted from the injured Natasha. He was glad to have his shield, because being punched by that guy was not something he would easily walk away from. He saw an opening and took it, grabbing the man's mask and throwing him over his shoulder. He braced himself as the soldier rolled and got to his feet, turning to face him.

"Bucky?" he asked, disbelieving as he looked at what was definitely his former best friend, last seen falling to his doom off of a cliff. His mind froze in confusion. How could he be here, now? What was going on?

"Who the hell is Bucky?" the man, who was clearly Bucky, asked him, vaguely annoyed. Stared at him as though they had never even met. Steve watched in silence as the man for whose death he had always blamed himself aimed a gun at his head. It was lucky that Sam came flying out of nowhere and knocked him down. He attempted to aim again, but Nat shot an RPG in his direction. He looked around, expression confused, then disappeared into the smoke.

Steve barely noticed as men surrounded them, forcing him to his knees and holding a gun to his head. "Not here," Rumlow said. He was vaguely aware of helicopters overhead, and being roughly forced into a van.

"He looked right at me. He didn't even know me," he said numbly. Sam asked him how that could be and he explained as best he could, forcing the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him out of his tone. "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky," he finished, miserably. How could this be? How could his friend have survived the fall, let alone still be young after a seventy-year absence? What had been done to him to make him act this way? The man he had been fighting was as good a shot as Bucky, but Bucky had not used knives. He had not fought brutally. He had not had a metal arm. Why did he have a metal arm? Was it from the fall or were they just testing it out? Who had made Bucky into that killing machine?

He thought back to his first encounter with the soldier. He'd been able to shoot through a wall with enough accuracy to kill Nick Fury. He'd managed to outrun Steve. When he had thrown his shield at the assassin, he had turned around and caught it with his metal hand without being affected by it. No one had been able to do that before, and he hadn't even been facing the right way to see it coming. Had he known Steve had a shield that he frequently threw to detain people?

The soldier had met his eyes and thrown the shield back coldly. He hadn't recognized any of Bucky in him then. Not that he usually looked for that kind of thing. Then he had disappeared neatly. How had he done that? There was not a sound to indicate his presence when Steve had run to the edge of the building. Unwilling to give up, he had lingered for several minutes. Long enough to see the ambulance leaving with Nick. He had followed it to the hospital, some vague hope in his chest of protecting the injured man from further attack.

At the hospital, they had waited in fear while they watched the doctors worked on Nick. Agent Hill, Maria, was there. Nat had arrived, and was clearly distraught. He couldn't remember seeing her so upset before. She'd asked him about the shooter, he remembered. He looked at her now, across from him in the van. Her shoulder was bleeding where the soldier, Bucky?, had shot her. Her eyes were closed. She had been afraid when he'd described the assailant. He hadn't seen her scared before, either. She had guessed the ballistics from his description.

Later, she'd explained her reaction. She had barely survived an encounter with him before. She had failed the mission. He hadn't known her to fail missions. She was, as Nick had said, comfortable with everything, and always accomplished what she set out to do. Even if it meant doing things that crossed a line. There was probably more to the story than she had described. Seeing as she had just been near fatally shot by the soldier for the second time, he didn't think it was a good time to ask for details.

Nat and Sam were good friends to him. They had developed a rapport and he trusted them to have his back on missions. Of course, he'd trusted Rumlow, too, and that hadn't turned out too well. Still, having a team again had been great. It wasn't the same as his first team, but it was pleasant. It was comfortable. It helped make up for missing seventy years. Nat meant well when she suggested girls for him to date, but she didn't understand. What would they talk about? He would share more life experiences with her grandparents than with her.

Talking to Peggy could be nice, but she would forget him and it was heartbreaking to see her intense joy at seeing him again. He wished they could engage in a whole conversation without being interrupted, and having to see how strongly she had been affected by his loss. It was worse for her. She'd lived seventy years without him. He'd only been aware of about two of those. The shock of the whole experience weighed greater on him than on her, though. She'd moved on, gotten married, had kids and grandkids. And he was alone.

Had he really seen Bucky today? Or was it just his loneliness playing tricks on him? Did he long for real friendship so much that he had imagined his long-dead best friend's face on the man attacking him? But, no, he'd spoken. He'd been annoyed and confused by the question. He'd wanted to shoot him, Steve, for calling him Bucky. Maybe he had seen doubt cross the soldier's eyes before he'd disappeared, but maybe he had just wanted to.

* * *

Over a year ago, he had accepted a large bet from Nick Fury that what he saw would still surprise him. He had lost. He was still surprised and shocked by the modern world. There were gods and aliens and amazing feats in technology. But nothing could have shocked him more than seeing someone he had once known. His thoughts kept returning to the look on Bucky's face when he'd asked "Who the hell is Bucky?" Was there some spark of recognition? Or not?

If it was Bucky, why would they risk sending him after Steve? Did they not know of their history? Was it personal? Or did they merely assume that he was well-trained enough for it not to matter? It certainly appeared that they were correct in that assumption. Whoever they were. Some branch of HYDRA, he supposed. But the men who were with Bucky were not the Strike team, and none had been around to join them in collecting the prisoners. Perhaps they'd all been incapacitated except for Bucky. He had disappeared into the smoke from the explosions as neatly as if he'd never been there. It was frustrating. He wished he could have questioned the man who looked like Bucky further.

What had HYDRA done, to make him forget everything? What horrors had they unleashed upon his friend? He remembered when he had rescued Bucky from the HYDRA base, the first time he had actually done something worthwhile as Captain America. He'd been strapped to a gurney, repeating his name, rank, and service number. Soldiers were trained to do that under duress. So whatever they were doing, it wasn't pleasant. Bucky hadn't talked about it later, and he hadn't wanted to ask. It seemed like it was pretty important now, though.

He thought back over all of his time spent with Bucky after rescuing him, searching for any indication of what had happened to him. He had changed, certainly, from the cocky young man Steve had always looked up to. He had been quieter, more intense, as they destroyed HYDRA base after HYDRA base. Still, he had joked and laughed between missions. His behavior was very similar to other soldiers, especially POWs. Steve had had no reason to suspect his experiences were any different from another prisoner of war.

Maybe he had lost who he was in the fall from the train. Steve didn't like to think about it, but forced his thoughts to focus on the memory. They were hundreds of feet from the ground. The sides of the ravine were steep. Even if he had somehow managed to slow his descent, there was a river in the bottom. Maybe he had frozen, just like Steven had. Clearly more than that had happened, but it was a daunting mystery to consider. Just what was HYDRA capable of doing? And, more importantly, was it reversible?

He pulled himself from his thoughts long enough to look at his friends. Nat was in a bad way. Sam was fine. What was going to happen to them? HYDRA had already tried to kill them once today. Now they were captured. It was unlikely that they would survive this. He tried to care, to come up with a plan, but his brain wouldn't focus. All he could think about was the way Bucky had looked at him, angry that he'd spoken, angry at being called that name, angry that he'd derailed the fight. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate that he knew, or cared, who Steve was. So what was the point? SHIELD had fallen. Everything they stood for was going to be destroyed. What could he do about it now?


	3. Now I'm breaking down your door

**A/N: I was snowed in today (not kidding, it was easily 6 inches; yay Wyoming), so here's another chapter :) It's a rough one.**

**3. Now I'm breaking down your door, to try and save your swollen face**

He waits silently, hidden among the wreckage. There is a lot to choose from. When the targets have been captured, he watches to see if they will be killed right away. The thought of his mission being finished by someone else is distasteful. The men pack their prisoners in one of several vans and they drive away. He considers briefly, then walks over to one of the undamaged vehicles. He rips the door open with his left hand and climbs inside. The keys are conveniently in the ignition. Police are trying to rope off the area, but he gets through and follows the group of vans.

His arm is damaged. It does not respond quite right. He will have to go in soon for them to fix it. The vans drive to a secluded area, a large drainage pipe. He stops some ways away and approaches silently on foot. The sounds that greet him make it fairly obvious that the targets have escaped. Men shout and are shouted at, as they run around searching aimlessly. He goes in for a closer look to make sure. There is no way to know when they cut the hole in the floor of the vehicle, so he goes back to base, defeated. There is nothing more he can do out here. He will give his mission report and the man will tell him if he should pursue it again or not.

* * *

Base is in the vault of a bank. There is a back door so he can enter unobserved. His handlers are there. They are vaguely familiar to him. He is led into the vault, and sits down on a metal chair of some sort. He has sat here before, he is sure. There is machinery behind him, and screens on either side. He has been injured in the fight, though not significantly. His arm is damaged, though.

He removes his gear so his handlers can more easily deal with the cybernetics. No one speaks to him, but he can remember being told to do so on a previous occasion. A man comes forward wearing a white shirt and bow tie, and inspects the damage. Something is familiar about him, too. He thinks of the mission, and strange visions suddenly fill his thoughts.

"Bucky! No!" the target's yell rips through his consciousness.

Falling, lying in the snow.

Being dragged, the stump of his arm leaving a trail of blood.

Lying on a table, with a little circular saw removing the dead flesh.

Waking up to find he has two hands again, but one is metal.

Reaching out to strangle the nearest doctor.

"Sergeant Barnes… the new fist of Hydra!" a voice says triumphantly.

Being locked in a coffin-sized space, looking out a tiny window as it gets very, very cold.

Barnes, Barnes, Barnes… Bucky? The words reverberate in his head. Who is that? Someone without a metal arm, he decides. He becomes aware of someone working on his arm, and he lashes out, sending the man flying. He sits, tense and ready, breathing hard, waiting for someone else to approach while he tries to make sense of the confusion of scenes passing through his head.

* * *

He is vaguely aware of the vault door being opened and the man coming in. The man is more familiar than anyone else in the room. Maybe he can help. He waves aside the armed men who surround the soldier and pulls up a chair to face him. "Mission report," the man orders. He wants to reply, but there is something important he needs to remember about the mission. Something he needs to know. "Mission report, now" the man repeats, losing patience. When he doesn't answer, the man strikes him across the face. He blinks a few times, focusing on the room instead of what is in his head.

"The man on the bridge," he says slowly. "Who was he?" There is something important, something important, something important. It is for the mission. For the mission. For the mission. He'll tell him what it was. He'll tell him.

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment," the man replies calmly, leaning forward to study him.

"I knew him," the soldier states hesitantly, certain of the fact but unfamiliar with the idea, staring at something no one else can see. He remembers the assignment in question. He'd caught the man's shield and thrown it back. That isn't it. There is something else. He knows him from somewhere else. It is important.

"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time," the man says sincerely. "Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we're giving it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves," he explains, watching the soldier's reaction.

He looks away from where he has been staring and looks at the floor, pursing his lips. "But I knew him," he says at last, frowning at his inability to place the conviction he felt. He looks up at the man, meeting his eye, trying to make him understand. It is important.

"Prep him," the man says flatly, standing up.

So the soldier has failed some test. He isn't going to find out how he knew the man on the bridge. The man who called him Bucky and stared at him, so different from how all these men look at him.

"He's been out of cryosleep too long," the man with the bowtie protests.

The soldier doesn't know what they were talking about. He doesn't care. He frowns deeply, trying to remember. Try to remember, try to remember.

"Then wipe him and start over," the man says impatiently.

Two men step forward, pushing on the soldier's shoulders, forcing him to lean back in the chair. He doesn't resist. He doesn't look at any of them. They never look at him. He licks his lips and opens his mouth as one of the men, the one with the bowtie, approaches and holds out a mouth guard. He bites down, a spark of frustration flashing through him.

A sharp jolt on his back makes him straighten in the chair, and metal restraints close over his arms. Two on his right and one on his left. Why only one on his metal arm? Can he escape them? Probably, but there has never been a reason to. They will hold him while the procedure is done, so he won't hurt himself. That's what he has been told by the man, anyway. At some point. He can't remember.

Something like panic fills his chest as memories of pain flutter through his mind. He doesn't like this chair. He doesn't like what happens to him in it. He tries desperately to remember what is going to happen, but can't. He can remember waking up here, and that doesn't seem painful. But something bad is going to happen. And he still can't place where he knows the man from the bridge. He clings to the thought as a metal contraption is lowered around his head. He can hear the electrical hum it makes as it rests near his ears, can feel the sparks between the connections.

Pain explodes through his mind and he screams against the mouth guard, his body tensing against the restraints.

* * *

He is lying back in a metal chair. He doesn't like the chair. There are restraints on his arms. His right arm hurts where the metal of the chair dug into it. A lot of other places hurt, too. A man in a bowtie is crouched beside him, using a torch on his metal arm. There are a lot of men in the room, all armed and dressed in battle gear. He isn't. He spots his own gear on a table nearby and feels comforted. This will soon be over and he'll go back to work.

A man steps forward, into his line of sight. The man. The soldier knows him. He usually gets orders from him. He waits patiently.

"You failed your mission today," the man explains, almost gently. The soldier frowns. He doesn't fail missions. He would be useless if he failed a mission. He listens carefully. He isn't going to fail again.

"You had two targets, level 6. But maybe that was too much. Your mission is just one target. Today, HYDRA is going to launch three hellicarriers. They will bring the world back from chaos. Your job is the make sure all three are launched according to plan. Use any means necessary. You are an expert. You will be successful. There is a man who will try to stop you. He was your target. You need to finish the job. Don't let me down again. Don't let HYDRA down," the man says. He pats the soldier on the shoulder and leaves.


	4. Though I don't like you anymore

**A/N: Probably should have mentioned it earlier, but the chapter titles are from Song to Say Goodbye by Placebo. The next few chapters will be flashbacks, because this is heavy stuff and I need a break :)**

**4. Though I don't like you anymore, you lying, trying waste of space**

"She needs medical attention," Sam was insisting. The guard on the left pulled out an electrified billy club of some sort. Sam sat back in surprise, but it was used to attack the other guard. They all stared, apprehensive. The guard pulled off her mask. Agent Hill.

"That was squeezing my brain," she said, almost smiling at them. "Who's this?"

"Sam Wilson," Sam replied.

"Oh." She looked at him for a moment. No one else spoke. "We need to get out of here."

"Do we?" Sam asked, somewhat sarcastically.

She nodded, and leaned forward, pulling out a small black device. She pressed a button and the end of it flared to life. It cut through the floor of the vehicle like a hot knife through butter. "Hold this," she told Steve. He reached down to help keep the piece of floor in place until she had finished cutting. She paused, listening, then told him to release. The metal fell away and they could see the road passing by quickly. "Get ready to jump," she said. "Natasha, you and Steve go first. Then Sam. I'll go last."

Steve helped Natasha up and stood with her, ready. At Maria's signal, they jumped out of the vehicle, Sam right behind them. They rolled, but the impact hurt. Nat seemed like the wind had been knocked out of her. He helped her to her feet, out of sight of the road. He didn't know how many vans there were in the convoy.

"Come with me," Maria said, walking calmly up to them. She led the way down a narrow alley. Steve tried not to think about the time he'd spent in alleys as a kid. There was a van parked at the end. They climbed in and she drove them somewhere else.

Steve was a sickly child. He had few friends. Bucky had been like the older brother he never had. He was strong and brave, and protected Steve. Then the war had broken out, and Bucky was obviously an ideal candidate for a soldier. And no matter what Steve did, they wouldn't take him. Bucky was sent to war, and he was left alone in Brooklyn. Dr. Erskine had saved him from that hell, and eventually he had gotten to go to war, too. It hadn't started out like he'd hoped.

Bucky's company had been almost entirely killed or captured. He had thought of his friend, always protecting him, always helping him out of fights he was sure to lose. And he couldn't leave him. Finding Bucky, delirious, mumbling, restrained to a gurney, had been both rewarding and chilling. He was alive. Steve could save him.

* * *

_"It's me, Steve!" he said to his rambling friend as he pulled off the restraints._

_ "Steve?" Bucky replied groggily, looking confused. His eyes focused. "Steve!" he said again, smiling._

_ "I thought you were dead," he said, little of the emotion he felt at the words translating into his voice. He helped Bucky up._

_ "I thought you were smaller," Bucky said quietly, brow furrowed as he looked him up and down. "What happened to you?" he asked, leaning against Steve as they made their way quickly out of the room._

Why had he not asked the question back? Why had he never been able to bring himself to find out what had happened to his friend? He had no idea what they did to him. Had there been anyone else in the room? He didn't think so. No one alive, anyway. They could have been successful with other POWs, though. Bucky might not be the only one. It was seventy years ago. Surely there would be stories of more super soldiers if there had been other successful attempts.

Bucky had been different after. He thought about the walk back to camp. His friend had been reserved and clearly exhausted, but happy. No, happy wasn't the right word. Proud. He hadn't realized right away that he was proud of _him_. "Let's hear it for Captain America!" he'd called out to the men when they had triumphantly entered the camp. He'd smiled at Steve, and Steve had been too distracted, and surprised, by the adulation to notice how his oldest friend was doing.

Later, in the club, he had been sitting with some of the men they'd saved. He'd seen them take part in the escape and hoped they'd join his team. Bucky had recommended them, too. They'd insisted on him opening a tab for more beer. He'd been happy to oblige, but hadn't joined them. He'd joined Bucky.

Uncharacteristically, his friend was drinking something much stronger than beer. He hadn't noticed at the time, but now he wondered if whatever procedure they'd performed on him had affected his metabolism. Steve couldn't get drunk. Could Bucky? Maybe he was being paranoid. It wasn't uncommon for newly-freed prisoners to imbibe more than usual.

Bucky had, unsuccessfully, flirted with Peggy. She'd been stunning in red, who could blame him? It wasn't like when Steve remembered him flirting before the war, though. Of course, she was far more interested in Steve, which had never happened. But Bucky hadn't really seemed intent on changing her mind.

"I'm invisible. I'm turning into you. It's like some kind of horrible dream," Bucky had joked. It didn't seem like a joke anymore.

* * *

The van came to a halt and Steve looked around, blinking. Where were they? There were woods around them, and an underground structure, probably a dam, to their right. Maria had stopped the engine and was climbing out. He hastened to do the same, to help Natasha. She put her arm around his shoulder and leaned against him, and he tried not to think of saving Bucky. How Bucky would have laughed if he knew Steve thought of him when a pretty girl was leaning against him.

A man came to meet them in the dark inside the dam. He wanted to see Nat, but Maria insisted they would want to see "him," first. There were any number of people he could fit into that description, so he followed passively. They were shown into an improvised hospital room. Nick Fury was lying in the bed, watching them as they entered.

* * *

Steve forced himself to focus as the other man described his injuries. Nat was being bandaged by the doctor. She was upset to have been left out of the loop. That added to Steve's anger. HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD, and Nick hadn't even noticed.

"Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? I noticed," he replied coldly.

"Yeah? And how many people got hurt before you did?"

"I didn't know about Barnes," Nick said. He saw much with one eye.

Even if he had, there was no reason to think he wouldn't have compartmentalized that piece of information, too. There was only one solution. SHIELD had been started by Peggy. He had joined because of her. She had named it after his weapon. But he didn't owe her any more. It had become something else, and it needed to go. The only way to wipe out HYDRA was to wipe out SHIELD. It had too much power to be trusted. But how did one destroy an intelligence community?

Natasha knew. "SHIELD and HYDRA rely on intelligence. So, we take that away. Take away all their secrets and put them for the world to see."

"What about the innocent men and women whose lives will now be an open book?" Nick asked. "What about people with a past they don't want known?" he added, meeting Nat's eye.

"Do you think they are any safer now, in SHIELD's hands?" Steve snapped. "This is how it has to go."


	5. Before our innocence was lost

**A/N: Flashback! I wouldn't say Bucky is remembering this, though.**

**5. Before our innocence was lost, you were always one of those**

_Bucky Barnes was walking slowly down the street, kicking an old can before him idly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his trousers and he kept his eyes intently on the road. The summer sun was sweltering. He should go home, should go inside where at least the sun wasn't beating down on his dark hair. But his dad was home and making his presence felt._

_ He kicked the can particularly hard and watched, with vague interest, as it skittered down the sidewalk and into an alley. He sighed, looking up and down the street. He stalked after the can. When he neared the alley, he heard voices. He slowed, listening._

_ "Hit him again!"_

_ "Bust his head!"_

_ "Maybe this'll teach you to keep your mouth shut!"_

_ Bucky leaned around the corner, and could see three boys roughly his age standing in a circle. A small figure was on the ground, clearly the target. The little boy got unsteadily to his feet, then rushed at one of his attackers. He was quickly and easily knocked back down. It made Bucky angry, much angrier than he could remember being._

_ "Hey!" he shouted, running down the alley. "Pick on someone your own size!" He punched the largest boy in the face, and blood poured from his nose. He'd never punched anyone before. He shook his hand. It hurt. The boys ran off, their sport no longer so easy. He offered his other hand to the boy, who took it and pulled himself to his feet._

_ "Thanks." The boy appeared to be close to his age, but was pretty small._

_ "What's your name?"_

_ "Steve. Steve Rogers," the boy said._

_ "I'm Bucky Barnes," he replied, offering his hand. He smiled. "Where do you live?"_

_ "Just over there," Steve said, pointing to the space behind the alley._

_ "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." _

_ The boys walked together down to the courtyard behind the buildings. Steve led Bucky up the stairs to his apartment. No one was home. Steve walked down to what must be his bedroom and Bucky followed more slowly. "Do you live by yourself?" he asked, looking around._

_ "No, my mom just works a lot." Steve changed shirts and went to the bathroom sink to wash the blood off his face. Bucky rocked back on his heels._

_ "That cut looks pretty bad. My mom can probably fix it up if you want to come over," he offered._

_ "Sure," Steve smiled._

_ "We live just down here," Bucky said, pointing._

_ "We're practically neighbors," Steve replied. He glanced at the other boy, then looked away. "I've seen you around."_

_ "Yeah? I don't remember seeing you," Bucky said thoughtfully._

_ "I'm usually surrounded by much bigger people."_

_ "You're not that little, Steve. I hope they aren't always beating you up."_

_ "Well, not always."_

_ Bucky laughed. "Maybe I should stick around more to punch them," he joked. The look on Steve's face sobered him. "Come on," he said, after a pause. They walked in silence the remaining distance to his apartment._

* * *

_ "Mom! Where are you?" he called as he walked inside. Steve stood uncomfortably at his elbow as they waited by the front door._

_ "Bucky? Where have you been? Your father – Who's this?" she asked as she walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel._

_ "Steve Rogers, ma'am," Steve said, stepping forward to offer his hand. She took it reluctantly and he shook hers firmly. She looked at Bucky expectantly._

_ "Some boys were beating him up. I stopped them," he told her. "His mom isn't home and I thought you could look at that gash on his forehead."_

_ She turned from her son back to the other boy. "Oh, my," she said, leaning closer to inspect the injury. "Come with me." She took Steve by the shoulder and pushed him toward the kitchen. Bucky followed._

_ "There's no need to make a fuss, ma'am," the boy protested. "My mom's a nurse. She can patch me up when she gets home."_

_ "Nonsense," she replied. "It's no trouble. Buck's been in plenty of scrapes himself. It's not something I haven't done before," she assured him._

_ She sat him down at the kitchen table, getting some supplies out of the cabinet by the sink. The alcohol on the cloth she used to dab his cut must have stung, for he winced, but he didn't otherwise react to her ministrations. Bucky stood nearby, rolling back on his heels and forward on his toes, waiting._

_ "Finished," Mrs. Barnes said with a smile as she straightened._

_ "Thank you, ma'am," Steve said, reaching up tentatively to touch the bandage._

_ "Can he stay for dinner, Mom?" Bucky asked. _

_She met his eyes, hesitating. Finally, she said "I don't see why not. Why don't you two go outside and play until it's ready?"_

* * *

_The boys sat on the porch, feet hanging down below the railing. "How long have you lived here?" Steve asked suddenly._

_"A few months. My dad just got transferred to a base in Jersey. We moved here to be close by."_

_"Why did you chase off those other guys? It won't make school very fun for you if you hang out with me."_

_Bucky turned to look at him quizzically. "I don't like people who pick on someone smaller just because they can," he said at last. "If that makes me lose friends, I don't mind."_

_"Well, I know you gained at least one," Steve said with a shy smile._

_Bucky smiled back. "Come on, let's go," he said, and, jumping to his feet, led his new friend down the stairs._


	6. Blessed with lucky sevens

**A/N: That one was short, so here's another short one :)**

**5. Blessed with lucky sevens and a voice that made me cry**

_Steve walked up the familiar metal stairs to his friend's apartment. He knocked on the door, and ran his fingers through his hair while he waited. His brow furrowed as there seemed to be no sound coming from inside. "Hey, Buck," he called, knocking again. This time, he heard the scraping of chairs and footsteps approaching._

_ The door opened slightly and Bucky looked out, looking tired. "Oh, Steve, it's you," he said, still blocking the door._

_ "What's up? I thought we were going to the movies," Steve questioned._

_ "I – uh, I don't think that's going to work out today. It was a long night," Bucky explained, but the look in his eyes was one of pity, not exhaustion._

_ The door started to close, but Steve reached out to stop it. "Buck. What aren't you telling me?"_

_ "Let him come in," Mrs. Barnes voice called from the kitchen. He was surprised to hear her. Whatever had happened must be big, or she wouldn't be here._

_ Sighing, Bucky released the door and turned, walking back to the kitchen. Steve followed, closing the door carefully behind him. He was surprised to find that Mr. Barnes was there, too, and the whole family was sitting at the kitchen table. He paused in the doorway, feeling distinctly out of place._

_ "Come sit down, Steve," Mrs. Barnes said gently. She patted the seat beside her._

_ "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude…" he trailed off, acquiescing._

_ There was a long period of silence. Steve listened to the clock on the wall tick as the family avoided eye contact. Finally, Mrs. Barnes spoke up. "Maybe we should leave the boys to talk," she told her husband. He grunted and both stood. Mr. Barnes patted Bucky's shoulder as they left the kitchen. Steve waited until they were out the front door._

_ "What's happened?" he asked._

_ Bucky took a deep breath. "I've been called up," he admitted softly._

_ "Oh."_

_ They sat in silence while Steve digested the news. Bucky clasped his hands on the table and alternated between staring at them and looking at Steve, who was staring off into some middle point in space. "How about a drink?" Bucky asked suddenly._

_ Startled, Steve frowned at him. "It's 9 AM."_

_ "Perfect time to start," he replied, standing up._

_ Steve watched him go to the cupboard and bring two mismatched glasses and a bottle of rum. He sat back down heavily, and poured several shots worth out for each of them. "Buck, I don't think this is a good idea." His friend's behavior was a little erratic, which concerned him._

_ "Basic is going to start soon. I've only got a little while to drink, so I'd better get started," Bucky answered, taking a swig. He grimaced. "Come on, Steve. I've never let you go alone into something you couldn't finish. It's about time you repaid the favor," he said with a smile._

_ "I'm not sure saving me from bullies is the same as helping you drink," Steve replied, not matching his friend's smile. He took a drink anyway, then coughed._

_ Bucky laughed. "Glad to see you enjoying it. If we hurry, we can get drunk and still go to the movies."_

_ "Great, that's exactly what I was hoping we'd do today," Steve grumbled, but he smiled._

* * *

_ "That was the best movie I've ever seen," Bucky said as they walked out of the theater. He was stumbling a little, but otherwise seemed none the worse for wear._

_ Steve rubbed his temples. The sun was already down and it was still entirely too bright. "You're an idiot," he mumbled._

_ Bucky laughed, too hard. It approached hysteria. Steve glanced at him sharply. "I may be, but what does that make you? If your best friend in the world is an idiot," he explained carefully when Steve didn't answer._

_ "My only friend in the world. I must have terrible luck," Steve replied, watching him as he wandered down the sidewalk. "We'd better get you home before anyone we know sees you."_

_Steve had drunk significantly less than Bucky, and was aware enough to be concerned about his friend's out of character behavior. The further they walked, the more sober both men became. By the time they were within a block of the apartment, Bucky was walking normally and had his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. He kicked at objects on the ground as they went. Steve walked a little behind him to keep an eye on him._

_ When they reached the door to Bucky's apartment, he turned around to face Steve. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely._

_ "For what? Don't worry about it," Steve replied quickly, trying to step around him to get to the door._

_ "Steve." He looked up at Bucky, who was looking very serious. "I know they won't take you. I tried to get my dad to put in a good word, but…" He trailed off. "I know what this would mean to you."_

_ Steve sighed. "There isn't anything you can do. Thank you for trying."_

_ "You're a good man, Steve. Better than me. I'd be happy to go, if it meant serving with you."_

_ "Bucky…"_

_ "Don't say it. I've known you since we were kids. I hate to leave you here alone."_

_ Steve leaned against the wall next to the door. They stood silently, looking out over the city. The lights were striking in the dark night. "What regiment will you be in?"_

_ "The 107th."_

_ He closed his eyes, wincing. "Give 'em hell for me."_

_ "You know I will."_


	7. You were Mother Nature's Son

**A/N: About the flashbacks. Chapter 6 was Steve's point of view, so he's probably remembering them. I don't think the Winter Soldier is remembering any of these (yet!), but maybe they are flashing through his head while they are wiping him (?). I like that idea, not sure it's feasible, but you are welcome to interpret them how you will :) In any case, the next chapters will be back to the present, so I hope you enjoy this last break from the impending angstiness.**

**7. You are mother nature's son, someone to whom I could relate**

_He was standing in his best suit, hands clasped in front of him, between his parents. Steve was in the row ahead, shoulders sloped in grief. He wished he could stand with him. Instead, family from out of town, who barely knew Steve, surrounded him. He glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye. She was weeping. She had met Mrs. Rogers, of course, but hadn't known her all that well. He suspected she was thinking about the war, and how it might soon affect her own family as it had Steve's. He reached out and took her hand. She squeezed and flashed him a quick smile._

_ When the ceremony was over, he waited where he was as the other mourners filed out. "Find Steve. We can give him a ride," his mother whispered before going with his father to talk to their friends. He thought back to the many times Mrs. Rogers had been like a mother to him, too, and quickly looked at the ceiling to keep tears from falling. What would things be like without her?_

_ She'd been sick for a while, and hadn't been able to work. Steve was working, but not enough. Bucky had brought them what food they could spare, and done what he could to help. His mother was working, too, and his father was around, so they were more fortunate than a lot of people. He'd watched his friend grow quieter and quieter, shrinking into himself. He'd been in more fights lately. It was getting harder to keep track of him and pull him out of them._

_ Realizing that he'd been lost in thought for a while, he refocused his attention on the front pew of the church. It was empty. Steve was gone. He fought an irrational panic, and turned on his heel to observe the remaining crowd. Steve was generally difficult to spot, so it took him a few minutes to decide he was no longer inside. He quickly left his seat and made his way out the front doors, pushing as politely as possible through the slow-moving group._

_ The sun was shining outside. It didn't seem right. It should rain at a funeral, he thought idly as he searched the congregation outside. No sign of Steve. He walked around the church, but he wasn't there. Giving up, he returned to his parents._

* * *

_ "Couldn't find Steve, huh?" his father asked as they drove._

_ "No."_

_ "Well, why don't you head over to his place and try to bring him by for dinner. I'm sure the poor boy will be famished," his mother said._

_ "Okay."_

_ "Buck." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "He can come to stay with us. I hate thinking about him all alone in that apartment."_

_ "I'll ask," he promised. She smiled, and turned back to face the front of the car. He went back to staring at his hands._

* * *

_ Knocking on Steve's door gave no response. He waited, peering in the window by the door. There wasn't any movement inside. He sighed. Where could he be? He tried to imagine what he would do in the same situation. He probably wouldn't want to talk to anyone, either, so maybe Steve was inside and just ignoring him. He turned around and leaned against the railing, looking across the courtyard. There were some children playing some kind of game with a few stones. It was otherwise empty._

_ He walked slowly down the stairs, kicking his heels. He paused at the bottom, running his fingers through his hair. It was getting long. He'd need to cut it soon. Money for a barber was difficult, though. He had just rounded the corner when he heard a voice behind him. He didn't catch the words, but it was definitely Steve, talking to someone. Maybe the kids. He turned on his heel and watched his friend walking up to his apartment, shoulders squared, hands thrust into his pockets._

_ "We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery," Bucky said as he caught up with his friend._

_ "Sorry. I just wanted to be alone," Steve replied, barely glancing at him._

_ "How was it?" he asked, unsure how to ask what he wanted to know._

_ "It was okay. She's back with Dad."_

_ He looked at his friend, so small and alone, and cleared his throat. "I was going to ask," he began._

_ "I know what you're going to say, Buck, it's just…" Steve trailed off, turning to his door._

_ "We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids. It'll be fun," he assured his friend. "All you got to do is maybe shine my shoes, take out the trash," he added. Steve wouldn't accept charity. He watched as Steve felt his pockets for a key, and smiled sadly. He bent and kicked the brick aside that hid the spare, and handed it to his friend. "Come on."_

_ "Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own," Steve replied, determination in his voice as he unlocked the door._

_ "Thing is, you don't have to," Bucky said, putting his hand on Steve's shoulder to stop his fidgeting. Steve turned to look at him. "I'm with you to the end of the line, pal," he said sincerely. Steve smiled at him resignedly. "At least come to dinner," he added more lightly._

_ "I guess I am pretty hungry. Do I have to start shining your shoes now?" he asked, some humor returning to his voice._

_ Bucky laughed. "Let's wait until we get home first."_

_ Steve locked his door again, and they walked down the stairs together._

* * *

_ "I'm so sorry for your loss, Steve," Mrs. Barnes said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I know this will be hard for you. But you can always count on us to help you out."_

_ "Thank you, ma'am," Steve replied with a smile. "What can I help you with?"_

_ "Why don't you boys tidy up the living room while I make dinner?"_

_ "Mom, we're hardly boys anymore," Bucky grumbled._

_ "You'll always be my two boys," she replied, winking at Steve, "even when you're in your nineties. Now, stop sulking over there and help Steve," she added._

_ He stood up from where he had been leaning against the wall and joined Steve in the living room. "It seems pretty tidy to me," he said dubiously, looking around._

_ "Yeah, but try looking at it like your mom would," Steve suggested, but looked just as uncertain as Bucky._

_ "I'm trying…"_

* * *

_"Boys, dinner's ready. Go fetch your father, Buck," Mrs. Barnes said as she walked into the living room. She started laughing. "Men indeed," she snorted, still smiling._

_ "It's a fort, Mom. Men build forts," Bucky said, defending their project with the couch cushions. Steve was too busy laughing to agree._

_ "Well, put those back where they go and wash up."_

_ Bucky smiled at his still-laughing friend as Mrs. Barnes went back to the kitchen. It was great to be able to cheer him up, especially today._


	8. Your needle and your damage done

**A/N: thanks for all the reviews! Sorry if I made you cry reading it... Imagine how I felt writing it! (Why do I keep doing this?... Because I've lost control of my life). Anyway, I'm just about ready to start posting the sequel to The Good Soldier, so let's wrap this up :) Also, Steve is on Sam's left, so Sam is on Steve's right. It comes up and I didn't want you to think I wasn't paying attention in the movie at all.**

* * *

**8. Your needle and your damage done remains a sordid twist of fate**

Steve stood on the bridge. He listened to the wind passing through the trees and the birds singing. It was a lovely day, but it he could see only darkness. He was thinking about all the times Bucky had been there for him, ever since they were kids together. Even when he had become a super soldier, Bucky was still there, protecting him however he could. What had happened to him? Could he change it? Could he reach his friend, or was he gone for good?

He heard footsteps approaching. Sam, on his right, as usual. "He's going to be there, you know?" Sam said quietly.

"I know," he replied, little emotion in his voice.

"Whoever he used to be, the guy he is now…" Sam paused, looking at him intently. "I don't think he's the kind of guy you save. He's the kind you stop."

Steve took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can do that," he admitted.

"Well, he might not give you a choice," Sam said earnestly. Steve didn't reply. "He doesn't know you."

"He will. Gear up. It's time," Steve said, confidence returning to his voice.

"You going to wear that?" Same asked, surprised.

"No. You going to fight a war, you got to wear a uniform," Steve replied, smiling, somewhat sadly.

* * *

It had been a long time since he'd worn the uniform. It had been on display in a museum for a while, after all. It was dusty. Still, it fit perfectly. And maybe it would make him more recognizable. He allowed the hope to foster in his chest, but knew how this would likely end. He would complete the mission. But that might be all he should hope to do.

With Maria's help, they broke into the Triskelion. When he had asked, she had suggested that he broadcast the situation to the agents. Let them choose a side. Then they would know who to fight. "The price of freedom is high. It always has been. But it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not," he finished, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

There was no sign of Bucky as he successfully installed the first chip. Sam was having a little more trouble, but also managed. "I need a ride!" he called to Sam.

"Roger! Let me know when you're ready!" Sam replied.

"I just did." He jumped from the deck to avoid an explosion and plummeted toward the ground. Sam caught him roughly, uncomfortably close to the hangar bay. Sam flew them back up to the third helicarrier. Almost done. Still no sign of Bucky. He hated himself for the hope welling in his chest.

"You're a lot heavier than you look," Sam chastised him as they landed.

"I had a big breakfast," Steve began. Something hit him like a ton of bricks, and he fell off the deck of the helicarrier. Oh, no, he thought desperately, as he caught on to the edge of the huge vehicle. He heard Sam shout his name and looked up to see his friend's wing caught by the Winter Soldier's metal arm. Sam turned and fired, and seemed about to get away, but something black and thin shot out across the open air and caught a wing. He was dragged back out of sight and Steve waited, breathless. A sudden force pushed Sam out into the air again, but with only one wing. He fell rapidly, but managed to disengage his other wing and deploy his parachute before he hit the ground.

"Sorry, Cap, I've been grounded," Sam's voice crackled in his ear.

"Don't worry. I've got it," Steve replied with more confidence than he felt. He looked up, trying to see Bucky, but couldn't. He started climbing.

* * *

He ran down the hallway, out onto the gangplank that connected the walkway with the computer bank. He slowed to a stop, looking at his once best friend, who was blocking his way. He took a deep breath, searching Bucky's face for any glimmer of recognition. All he could see was a resolute soldier. Still, the man was a trained assassin. They usually didn't just sit out in the open until their targets saw them. He allowed a glimmer of hope to foster in his chest. "People are going to die, Buck," he said desperately. "I can't let that happen. Please don't make me do this," he added, almost begging. The other man did nothing, said nothing, just waited, tightening his hold on the gun in each hand.

Steve took a deep breath, and hurled his shield at Bucky, who blocked it with his metal arm, then rushed forward. He fought hard, countering Bucky's moves, as he slowly advanced on the computer. He had soon knocked the guns from Bucky's hands, then had a knife to worry about. It took several attempts, but he was able to remove one of the chips currently in the machine. Then Bucky tackled him with a roar and they both fell off the gangplank. The precious chip he had just taken out fell away from him.

They landed on some kind of platform halfway to the floor. Bucky was near the chip, but ignored it, running up to attack him. They both, with the chip, fell the rest of the way down as a result. He ran toward where the chip fell, but was struck from behind by what could only have been his shield. He countered as best he could, but his focus was on getting the chip, and Bucky's was only on him. He cried out as Bucky stabbed his shoulder, then grabbed the chip off the glass floor. A panic entered his chest as he considered what would happen if Bucky decided to break it.

Rushing forward, Steve grabbed hold of the man who was once his friend by the throat and lifted him off the ground. He ignored the sounds Bucky made as he slammed him onto the floor and caught him in an arm lock, focusing on the mission. Focus on all the people who will die if you fail. He and Bucky could easily be on that list. "Drop it!" he cried desperately as he pinned the metal arm. He used his weight to stretch Bucky's right arm back, until there was a sickening crack and Bucky screamed.

And still, the soldier didn't let go. He dropped them both to the ground and wrapped his arm around Bucky's throat, tightening until he heard the chip clatter softly on the glass surface. He released Bucky and rushed to grab it. How much time was there left? He jumped up, grabbing the infrastructure above and swinging himself upward. An intense pain ripped through his leg as a shot rang out. He gasped, but kept going. Another shot cut through the air, hitting his arm as he swung. He pushed on, ignoring the pain and the blood. The computer data bank was still open. Thank God.

He was so close when a third shot caught him in the back, exiting through his belly. He collapsed in front of the computer, and it took all his strength to lift himself up and to place the chip in the empty space. "Charlie locked," he gasped.

"Get out of there, Steve," Maria's voice.

He closed his eyes. "Just fire," he said, leaning back. He listened in silence as all of the firepower on the three hellicarriers was unleashed. He heard a cry amid the pandemonium, and moved to look out into the space below. A beam had landed on Bucky. He was trapped. Steve took a deep breath, and climbed down the shuddering framework.

He dropped onto the glass floor roughly. Bucky was watching him carefully, uncertainly, like a trapped animal. He bent and lifted the steel with all his strength. For an agonizing moment, Bucky just watched him. Then he twisted and pulled himself out with his metal arm. Steve dropped the beam gratefully. He knelt, gasping for breath.

"You know me," he asserted.

"No I don't!" Bucky roared as he launched himself at Steve. His fist made contact and Steve went down.

Breathing hard, he climbed to his feet. "Bucky. You've known me your whole life," he told him. A backhand is the only response. "Your name is James Buchannan Barnes," he gasped out.

"Shut up!" Bucky yelled, sounding increasingly desperate as he attacked again.

Steve stood unsteadily, and pulled off his mask. He tossed his shield through the broken glass and watched it fall into the Potomac. "I'm not going to fight you," he said, voice defeated but resolute. "You are my friend."

Bucky tackled him to the ground, close to another break in the glass. Steve could hear the wind whistling passed his ear. "You are my mission!" Bucky shouted at him, and pain filled his consciousness as the metal fist made contact with his face again and again, the words repeating.

There was a pause. "Then finish it. Because I'm with you, to the end of the line," Steve said quietly, looking up through swollen lids at his former brother. He waited, but no more blows came. Bucky was staring down at him, fist held ready, mute horror on his face. He was aware of the platform shuddering beneath them, then he was falling, Bucky still staring down at him.


	9. Now I'm trying to wake you up

**A/N: This backtracks a little bit from where chapter 8 left off. Just fyi :) One more chapter after this!**

**9. Now I'm trying to wake you up, to pull you from the liquid sky**

He watches the target fall from the helicarrier. The other man tries to jump after him, to rescue him, and he snatches him out of the air with his metal hand. He flings him back onto the deck, and ducks behind some crates as his opponent starts shooting. He shoots the right wing with a grappling hook, and, taking hold of the rope, he yanks the man back to the deck. The struggle causes the wing to disengage. Then he kicks the man off the side. He watches him fall, and can hear the target speaking, presumably into a comm device. He waits until he hears the man climbing, then turns away.

There was no easy way to predict where the target will emerge. But he has some idea where he intends to go. He strides across the deck and into the ship, down the stairs and out onto the gangplank. Clear glass domes the area. There is a great deal of framework holding the gangplank twenty feet from the dome in the center of the room. He pauses, considering where he can take cover, then walks out to stand in front of the targeting computer, and waits.

* * *

He shifts his weight as footsteps echo through the room. The target appears at the other end of the gangplank. His jog slows when he sees him and then he stops. The man stares at him, looking haggard. He waits. "People are going to die, Buck," the man in blue says. That name… He pushes whatever thoughts that are trying to surface away. He has his mission. He won't fail again. "I can't let that happen. Please don't make me do this," the target begs.

Usually, when targets beg, they are asking _him_ not to act, he seems to recall. He frowns slightly at the change. This is unlike his other missions. Maybe that's why he failed to complete the mission earlier. The target doesn't act like a target. The other man sets his shoulders, preparing to engage. His muscles tense as he waits, ready. The target throws his shield, and he raises his left arm to block it. It bounces off and away, and he takes advantage of the target's distraction to attack.

The fight is intense. It takes all of his focus to keep the man away from the computer. He is unsuccessful at keeping him from opening it, and removing a chip. He sees the man remove a similar chip from a pouch on his belt, and redoubles his efforts to stop him. As a result, they both plummet over the railing. Fortunately, there is some kind of platform below. He lands further down, and jumps up quickly to reengage before the other man can orient himself.

The platform is not level. The chip slides down it, and so do they. The target continues to run for the chip. He throws the man's shield at him, striking his back and knocking him down. He doesn't stay down. He stabs the target in the shoulder, and snatches the chip from where it lays on the floor. The look in the other man's eyes is a startling change, and he feels the first tendrils of doubt about how this mission will conclude enter his mind. He is seized by the throat, and lifted from the ground, before being slammed down again, landing on his knees.

"Drop it," the man orders.

He holds tight as his arm is wrenched back, seeking desperately to free himself with his metal arm. A sickening crack fills his ears and he feels only agony as his shoulder is likely dislocated. Still, he holds on. The target drops them to the ground, wrapping his arm around his throat. The grip tightens and he struggles ineffectually. Black dots start to fill his vision, and he relents. He'll never be able to finish the mission if he is unconscious. There is a soft clink as the chip hit the glass.

The other man releases him, pushing him aside, and picks up the chip. He stays where he lies, breathing slowly until his sight returns. His arm hurts terribly and is difficult to move. There are many other aches and pains. He ignores them and struggles slowly to his feet. He surveys the area and sees his pistol. Pressing his right arm close to his body, he staggers over to it and picks it up in his metal hand.

Standing again makes him grit his teeth to keep from making a sound. He leans back to scan the structure for his target. Spotting him, he aims carefully. The bullet goes through the target's leg. The target is slowed briefly, but keeps going, so he shoots again, striking the man's arm as he climbs. The target slows, but is still able to climb. His third shot hit the man in the gut, and he drops at last.

He waits, listening. The man's voice echoes down to him, and he frowns. He can't see what was happening above. He walks slowly around to try to get a better look. There is not another vantage point that will allow him to finish the mission.

Suddenly, the world explodes in noise. The floor beneath his feet yaws and he is knocked off of his feet. Taken by surprise, he doesn't remember to roll until the last moment, and catches too much weight on his right shoulder. He falls back and doesn't move, eye closed tight as he clenches his teeth.

An impossible weight hits his chest and knocks the wind out of him. His vision swims. He has failed the mission. Probably for the first time. The man is unlikely to keep around an unsuccessful asset. Hopefully he will be killed here and not however the man chooses to complete the task. A thud nearby brings him back to the present. The target has jumped down and is a few feet from him. He watches him closely, trying ineffectually to move out from under the beam. Despite his helplessness, the man in blue does not attack. Instead, he kneels and begins lifting the steel beam that pins him. He tries to figure out why he would do this, but is unable to think of any reason. He twists and uses his still-functioning left arm to pull himself out. The other man drops the heavy beam as soon as he is clear, and remains where he is, panting.

"You know me," the target says flatly.

An image of a smaller version of the man before him flashes before his eyes, and he grimaces in confusion. "No I don't!" he cries, and swings his left arm, making contact with the other man's face, the momentum dropping him to his knees.

The target struggles to his feet. "Bucky, you've known me your whole life." He backhands him, but he is relentless. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," the man gasps out.

More strange images of the man before him flash before his eyes at the name. "Shut up!" he screams, attacking desperately, his blows thwarted by the shield.

The other man stands again, looking at him calmly. He holds up his shield, but then tosses it through the broken glass at his feet. It sails down into the river below. "I'm not going to fight you," he says, quietly. "You are my friend."

Is this why he failed the mission before? He can't fail again. If the target isn't going to fight back, he can easily be successful. "You are my mission!" he replies coldly, knocking the man to the ground. He punches his face repeatedly, punctuating each word with a blow as he repeated the statement, aware that his voice has increased in pitch and he is growing more frantic. The quiet acceptance exhibited by the other man disturbs him, and he stops when he hears his cheekbone snap.

"Then finish it," the target says, opening his swollen eyes. "Because I'm with you, to the end of the line," he murmurs.

The soldier stops, staring down at him. I knew him, I knew him, I knew him. The words reverberated through his mind. His words. He does not understand. Who was he? The structure beneath them shudders, and they are falling. He reaches automatically and catches part of the framework that is still attached, and watches the other man fall into the river. He should have caught him. No one else acts like this, talks to him like this.

He lets go and plunges into the water. It is cold. He finds the other man and drags him to shore. He stands over him, panting, looking for some sign of life. The man inhales and spits water out of his mouth, but otherwise seems far from consciousness. He stares intently for a moment longer, hoping some answers will appear. The sound of the last helicarrier hitting the water brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks around. Answers he may want, but he can't interrogate the man now. And he doesn't know where to take him to ask questions without interference. He turns and walks away.


	10. If I don't, we'll both end up

**A/N: Thanks so much for all of you who reviewed! I hope you enjoy this last chapter :)**

**10. Cuz if I don't, we'll both end up with just your song to say goodbye**

Steve became aware of noises. They were unintelligible at first, but soon separated into the muffled sounds of people hurrying around, beeping machines, and a song playing. He listened to the music for a little while, wondering vaguely and with little interest where he was. He wasn't feeling any pain, which was nice. It felt like floating on a cloud. He was aware that his face was swollen and that there were bullet holes in his flesh, but they didn't hurt.

He opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed. He surveyed the room, and saw Sam reading at his side. "On your left," he croaked. Sam smiled.

"Didn't think you'd be waking up this soon, Cap. Need more morphine?" he asked.

"No, I feel great," Steve replied, smiling slightly until it pulled on the stitches on his face.

"That's good. Well, you did it. You finished the mission."

His thoughts swam as he tried to remember what had happened. "Bucky?" he said sharply. "Is he?..."

"No one's seen him. I'm sorry, Steve," Sam said softly.

"I fell in the river," he said slowly. "He was still on the helicarrier."

Sam cleared his throat. "They haven't finished getting all the debris out yet."

"So he could be down there."

"It's possible, Cap."

He sighed, closing his eyes. Had he gotten through to his former friend? Had he recognized him at last? He didn't know. Now he may never know. "Where did you find me?"

"I didn't. You were on the shore. Did you swim?"

"I don't think I was capable of swimming," he replied, shaking his head slowly. Things were starting to hurt again. "I remember..." he paused, trailing off.

Sam put down his magazine and looked at him intently. "Yeah?" he prompted.

"I remember a hand grabbing me, when I was in the water. It may have been a dream," he admitted.

"It looked like you might have been dragged to shore," Sam said quietly, looking away.

"By Bucky?" Steve asked, sitting up despite the pain that shot through his belly.

"I don't know, man," Sam replied.

* * *

Steve slept again. Sometimes he woke to eat. But mostly he slept. At one point, he awoke and found Natasha sitting next to him. "You have connections in Russia, right?" he asked without preamble.

She looked up sharply. "Yeah, why?"

"I need you to do something for me," he said seriously.

"Steve, I don't think -"

"Nat." She stopped, and waited. "I need to know anything you can find out about B – the Winter Soldier."

"Steve," she said softly, pityingly.

"Please. I owe him."

"Alright."

* * *

Steve shook Nick's hand. "Anybody asks for me, you can tell them they can find me right here," Fury said, motioning toward his headstone as he walked away.

"You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you," Natasha said as she walked up.

"You're not going with him?" Steve asked.

"No, I blew all my covers. I need to come up with a new one," she said with a smile.

"That could take a long time."

"I'm counting on it." She held out a file covered in Cyrillic lettering. "Do me a favor? Call that nurse."

"She's not a nurse," he replied quietly.

"And you're not a SHIELD agent."

"What was her name again?" he relented.

"Sharon. She's nice," she assured him. After a pause, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Be careful." She stared to walk away, but turned back. "You might not want to pull on that thread," she warned, eyes sad, and left.

Steve looked down at the file in his hands. It was thick. He couldn't read Russian. The front cover had a large photograph attached to it of Bucky – the Winter Soldier – in cryostasis. There was also a small picture of him in his army uniform at the bottom. He took a deep breath to steady himself, forcing aside the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.

"You're going after him," Sam interrupted.

"You don't have to come with me," Steve replied softly.

"I know." Steve waited, in suspense. "When do we start?" Sam asked. He smiled at his friend, and they left the cemetery.

* * *

Bucky would be hard to find, he knew. He had been trained for decades to be untraceable. Would he go back to HYDRA? Was there a HYDRA to go back to? The river contained a few bodies when they finished searching it, but none had a metal arm. The Winter Soldier had disappeared as thoroughly as he always had. Steve could only hope that Bucky was in there somewhere, and wanting to get out.

A few days after Nick left, Tony called. He offered Avengers Tower as a new place to live and work, after what happened to SHIELD. Steve found himself describing what had happened with Bucky, and Tony suggested that JARVIS could be very helpful. He begrudgingly allowed Sam to come, too. For a little while.

Steve had been talking to Sam a lot. He had great insight into what Steve had had to deal with, was still dealing with. He felt better than he had in a long, long time. Two weeks after SHIELD had been destroyed, he knew that Bucky had survived and was reasonably sure he had pulled him out of the river. He was painfully caught between fear and a terrible hope, and finding Bucky was the only way to end the torment. Either way, then he would know.


End file.
